Confessionals
by Reminiscentia
Summary: If irony is the word for things that are funny but shouldn’t be, then practically my whole life is ironic. And Harry’s whole death was ironic. Well, his funeral anyway.


Confessionals  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or catholic churches, and I didn't invent confessionals... um... I think that about covers it!  
  
A/N: Any offence to any religion is unintentional. I'm not prejudiced or anything and I'm not trying to portray Ron as prejudiced (NEVER!), however, I am portraying his character as well... slightly ignorant and politically incorrect.  
  
Anyway, onto the story, and here it is!  
  
~Confessionals~  
  
If irony is the word for things that are funny but shouldn't be, then practically my whole life is ironic. And Harry's whole death was ironic. Well, his funeral anyway.  
  
I don't mean to sound rude or disrespectful or anything, honest. I mean, it wasn't a joke – not even to me. Harry was my best mate after all. It wasn't even his actual funeral that was the ironic part. It was more the events that his funeral brought about.  
  
Before I go any further, a little background:  
  
-I'd been in love (or something like that) with Hermione since my fifth year at Hogwarts.  
  
-Harry asked Hermione out in sixth year, and they went out till the end of seventh year. Technically, they never broke up.  
  
-Harry went out and got himself done in by an evil wizard.  
  
-Voldemort died in Harry's struggle.  
  
So anyway.  
  
Since Harry and Hermione had been so... close (yech...), the Grangers planned and executed—oh, Merlin, not the right word—I mean, they planned and carried out (yes, that's the one!) Harry's funeral. Mrs. Granger is catholic, so we had the ceremony thing at St. Mark's... eh... Tabernacle? No, that's not right... er... Temple? Nah, not that one... Saloon? No, that's not it either... er... St. Mark's church-place-thing.  
  
Oh, and I just have to say this: Had it been any other occasion, you can rest assured that I would have been laughing my pants off at those big tall hats on those Rabbi guys (I think the catholic teacher people are called Rabbis.. or maybe those are the Muslims...). But for Harry's sake (and my mother's) I kept my pants on. The hats were pretty funny though.  
  
Yeah, well, onto other things.  
  
Hermione was in black of course, and her hair was pulled back in twin French braids. I spoke to her briefly directly after the service. She collapsed against me, dissolving into tears. But I'd expected that. One of the edges of her horn-rimmed, tortoise shell glasses dug into my shoulder blade. (She'd gotten them the previous summer. She hated them, but I thought they completed her face quite nicely. Not that I ever told her that or anything.)  
  
A moment later, she just took off. Just like that. No explanation, no nothing. She just left. Not that I blamed her or anything. I didn't, really.  
  
So I sank into a little confessional compartment and did what I do best.—I held the pity party of the century. Yes, I am a selfish buffoon, aren't I?  
  
Not before long, I heard a rustling in the other half of my confessional. You know how confessionals are—they're divided into halves and you can't really see from one half into the other.  
  
"Father Burkley?" inquired a timid voice. Oh, carp, she was talking to me. Thinking fast, I cleared my throat and answered her—what else could I do?  
  
"Yes, my child?" I replied in a voice definitely not me own. Oh, Merlin.  
  
"I've sinned, Father." I felt my heart rate speed up.  
  
"I'm listening, daughter." I said in return. Oh, now, come on! If some girl were about to tell YOU her deepest secrets, wouldn't you do the same thing? I know, I know. Selfish buffoon.  
  
"Well..." The girl faltered. "I'm in love with this boy."  
  
"So?" I snorted. Come on, I couldn't help myself! But no harm done, the girl didn't seem to notice.  
  
"Well, it's just that... I made this other boy think that I was in love with *him*."  
  
"So you lied, is that what you're trying to say?" I asked, forgetting who I was supposed to be. The girl took a deep breath.  
  
"It's more than that... Ok, I'll start from the beginning. You know the boy whose funeral was today? Harry Potter?" Oh, crap, I must've known this person!  
  
"Yes, go on..." I replied eagerly.  
  
"Well, I'd been dating him him for about two years... right up until he died." Oh, gods, it was HERMIONE! Ok, well, onwards, to more selfish buffoonity.  
  
"Did you do anything... impure, daughter?" I asked. Sorry, but I had to know!  
  
"What? No! Of course not!" I leaned my head against the wall and sighed a deep sigh of relief.  
  
"Then what's the problem?"  
  
"It's just that... ok... Harry thought I was in love with him... but I wasn't. I couldn't tell him though, I didn't want to hurt him. I was.. I AM really in love with someone else—Harry's best friend... er... Ron... actually.  
  
I jumped to my feet half in triumph, half in shock.  
  
"WHAT?!" I roared.  
  
"Is it that bad?" Hermione asked in a small voice.  
  
I settled back on the bench and fought the urge to laugh. "You're looking to right this wrong, right?" I asked.  
  
"Yes, Father."  
  
"Advice?"  
  
"That'd be really nice, actually..."  
  
"Alright then. Well, here's the thing: There's nothing you can do about Harry Potter. Pity though." Ironically, I was smiling like a madman as I said this. I'm sure Harry understood. "Do you think Harry would've wanted you to be happy?"  
  
"Yes, of course he would have!" Hermione said, slightly defensively.  
  
"Do you love Ron?" Please, pleas, PLEASE say yes!  
  
"I—"she hesitated for a second. "Yes. Yes, I suppose I do."  
  
YES!!!  
  
"And would you be happy with him?"  
  
"Oh, yes," Hermione sighed. "I know I would."  
  
Now, I'm not really the religious type, but I stopped on the spot and thanked God for that moment, and I've thanked Him for it every day of my life since.  
  
"Then you know what you have to do?" I half asked, half stated.  
  
Hermione sighed again. "Yeah, I reckon I do. Thank you, Father." And with that, she was gone.  
  
Simple as that. She knew what she had to do, and I knew what I had to do.  
  
Just a side bar: Apparation really is the best form of magic.  
  
All I had to do was think about Hermione and there I was, standing right in front of her.  
  
"Hey," I said, attempting a grin.  
  
"Listen, Ron, I---"Before she could finish I embraced her.  
  
"I love you too, I whispered. She weaseled out of my arms.  
  
"How the heck did you know I was going to say that.  
  
I thought fast.  
  
"You know," I said finally, with a cocky grin. "You really shouldn't trust those Rabbi guys. I mean... aren't they all kid-abusing perverts?"  
  
Hermione kind of giggled.  
  
"Priests, Ron. Priests."  
  
FIN. 


End file.
